


Buy Milk

by abluevixen (knightofbows)



Series: | January 2016 Prompt Challenge | [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Barista!Derek, Barista!Erica, F/M, Luxury Hotel Setting, M/M, concierge!Stiles, manager!Allison, manager!Scott, server!Boyd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 10:42:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6076299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightofbows/pseuds/abluevixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is sent to get the milk Derek needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Buy Milk

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is actually loosely based on a hotel job I had a while back--the setting, the unanticipated job requirements, and the super strict HR policies.

Whenever Stiles clocked in for his three o’ clock shift, it was always with a faint flutter in his chest and an impulsive adjustment of his tie, because all that stood between he and a overlapping shift with Derek Hale was a walk down an off-stage corridor and logging into his terminal.

Of all his coworkers, Derek was Stiles’ favorite, hands down. From his dry wit to his genuine kindness, from his profoundly beautiful eyes to his remarkable physical strength, Derek was the most intriguing person he’d had the pleasure of meeting; and when working in hospitality, that was saying something. Neither the secret service agent, nor the guest who was actually named Jack Frost—Stiles had even double-checked his ID—was as interesting as Derek Hale. And much to Stiles’ dismay, Derek’s talents and natural charisma were being _squandered_ in the in-house café and restaurant. No matter how many times he’d mentioned it to his manager and best friend, Scott, a transfer was just not feasible.

So, Stiles might have had a _tiny_ crush on Derek. Super tiny. Nearly nonexistent.

As much as Stiles would have loved to work side-by-side with Derek, have the opportunity to get to know him better, he resigned himself to a sort of awkwardly undecided acquaintanceship with him. Stiles worked the Front Desk with a few other Front Desk Agents, and Derek worked across the hotel lobby in the café, and switched to the role of server for the dinner rush in the restaurant. That left Stiles with precious few opportunities to talk to Derek, like when he managed to sneak away from the desk to grab a cup of discounted coffee, or when he placed his dinner order so he could eat on his break. Even then, their conversations included Erica more often than not, another staff member who just worked the café in an overlapping shift with Derek, and she was far more talkative than Derek.

“Are you ever gonna ask him out, or just moon over him for the rest of your life?” Danny asked. Stiles hadn’t even been at his terminal for a solid five minutes—he couldn’t have already been staring longingly across the lobby.

“We hardly know each other,” Stiles remarked, dismayed. He logged into his terminal and started perusing the anticipated check-ins for the evening. “Besides, he’s probably taken. It’s rare someone like him is single.”

“You never know until you ask,” Danny remarked with a shrug.

“And if I ask, I open myself up to a sexual harassment allegation. I’d rather not deal with HR, thanks.” Stiles sighed, printed off the information he needed to do his job, then headed into the back to check in with his managers. He wasn’t surprised when he found Allison, the Assistant Front Office Manager in Scott’s lap. “You guys might want to be a bit more discrete, yeah?” he asked, closing the door behind him.

“Everyone already knows,” Scott said, letting Allison go as she stood and straightened her skirt.

“Yeah, but it’s still unprofessional,” Stiles groused. “And, you know, Allison’s dad runs the hotel, so you might not want to make a thing of banging his daughter on every flat surface of the family business, you know?” When Scott’s expression melted into something akin to a scolded puppy, Stiles continued, “Anyway, aren’t you supposed to be gone? Your shift’s over, dude.”

“He was just updating me on the day,” Allison said. Her flushed cheeks totally gave her away as she straightened her skirt, but Stiles didn’t mention it. “I’m in charge tonight.”

“Sounds good,” Stiles said. “I’m gonna grab some coffee, if that’s cool?”

Scott nodded. “Of course. Just make sure the phone’s covered.”

“Danny’s still here,” Stiles said over his shoulder.

“Tell Derek I said hi,” Allison sing-songed as Stiles walked out.

Stiles heaved a sigh and shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks as he crossed the lobby’s polished marble floor to the café. The lights dimmed to set the evening mood, and the fountain changed color. The ambient music slowed, and Stiles was just sinking further into melancholy. Erica greeted him when he reached the ordering counter, her usual smile unable to pull him from the beginnings of his dour mood.

“What’s wrong, hun?” she asked, her pink lips puckered in a pout.

“Nothing,” Stiles said, and it was true. Nothing was really wrong. He was just…lonely, and pining. It sucked walking in on his managers, his friends, in their happy, if unprofessional-in-a-work-setting relationship—it just reminded him of his own situation, and he wished they’d tone it down. It wasn’t appropriate for lobby-talk. Guests could overhear and, well, Stiles honestly didn’t _want_ to talk about it.

Erica turned to her register and started punching buttons. “I’m gonna head in the back for a sec,” she announced abruptly. He hadn’t even ordered yet. And then a drink slid across the counter, stopping just short of where Stiles casually rested his hand. His name was written on the drink sleeve, despite the drink being cold. He hated the condensation as the ice melted and had only ever mentioned it to one person.

He arched an eyebrow and looked up to find Derek standing in Erica’s place.

“Iced breve caramel latte,” Derek said, as if Stiles didn’t recognize the drink.

Despite his darkening mood, Stiles smiled, small and tired. “How’d you know?”

Derek smirked sympathetically. “It’s your pick-me-up drink. You walked in on Scott and Allison again?”

Stiles stirred the caramel sauce with the straw, then licked at what had seeped from the lid. When he looked up, he found Derek staring at him with a bit of a dazed expression. Derek probably thought he looked like a fool, so he quickly stopped and just sipped his drink. “Am I that transparent?” he asked, hoping to distract from his previous immaturity.

Blinking, Derek shook his head. “No,” he answered. “I’m just that observant.”

“That’s probably why you always get such fantastic comment cards. Derek this and Derek that. People in sales who probably don’t even know you know your name because of it.”

“I’m just doing my job,” Derek said, turning to wipe down some of the coffee machines. But his cheeks were pink as he turned away, and Stiles thought it was adorable. “It’s nothing special.”

“We’re all just doing our jobs,” Stiles answered. “But some of us make _impressions_.” And he waggled his eyebrows for emphasis and innuendo.

“Shut up,” Derek snarked, but there was no venom behind it.

“I’m just saying…” Stiles shrugged, then pulled his wallet from his pocket. “Anyway, what do I owe you?”

Waving him off, Derek said, “Nothing. It’s on the house.”

Stiles sputtered indignantly. “Dude, you can’t do that. They take inventory.”

“I said it was on the house, Stiles,” Derek pressed, the sincerity in his eyes enough to make Stiles’ chest tighten. “Just take the drink and get back to the desk. Before Allison thinks you’ve loitered too long.”

“Ah, yes,” Stiles complained. “God forbid I take a few minutes to talk to _my_ favorite person. It’s not like Scott stays after shift for her to do the same.” He rolled his eyes and sighed. It was as close to a confession as he’d dare, given their company policies about fraternization and harassment; and it was casual enough to dismiss if Derek was unreceptive. “Allison says hi, by the way. I’ll see ya later, Derek.”

As he turned and crossed the lobby, he could have sworn he heard Derek murmur a shocked, ‘I’m your favorite person?’ But he might have been imagining it. Wishful thinking and all that. The lobby was quickly crowding with check-ins and check-outs, so it could have been anything, really.

The afternoon rush hit the Front Desk hard. The morning shift had approved several late check-outs, which left several rooms unprepared for scheduled check-ins. Lines formed behind each of the three terminals—unacceptable by company standards, but also unavoidable. Opting to keep his pining and mopey attitude to himself, Stiles volunteered to help the scant housekeeping staff prep a few rooms. He chugged his coffee and gave his terminal to Allison. It kept him away from the Front Desk and out of sight from the café, where Derek still worked. It also let him abandon his blazer and roll up his sleeves for a while.

When he returned to the Front Desk, the worst of the rush had passed, and most of the guests had been checked into perfectly prepared rooms. The lobby was quiet, and when he returned to his terminal, he found another iced breve caramel latte waiting for him. “Where’d this come from?” he asked Isaac, who had come on shift while he’d been gone. Weird coffee left at his terminal that literally anyone could access was unsettling.

“Oh, Derek dropped that off for you before he started serving,” Isaac answered without looking up from his computer screen. “Said to make sure you got it, so I put it by your keyboard.”

Stiles inspected the drink as Isaac explained, and grinned when he found a note written on the cardboard sleeve— _Hope your day gets better._ And a small doodle of a smiling cartoon fox.

He’d started the sketch exchange sometime within the first few weeks of being hired at the hotel. Derek originally struck him as aloof and quiet, sort of grumpy and growly, so he’d teasingly called him a lone wolf. Not long after, the Post-Its came into play. Stiles would hide them all over the café area for Derek to find. Some had doodles of wolves, others had wolf facts, and if Stiles was feeling particularly brave, he’d write Derek facts as wolf facts. Derek never managed to catch him in the act, despite Derek rarely, if ever, leaving his work station. He complained about how Stiles was quick as a fox in his pranking, how, like a fox in a henhouse, Stiles left a mess for Derek to clean. And much like Post-Its themselves, the joke stuck.

Stiles pulled off the drink sleeve and tucked it into his pocket—like he did with all of Derek’s doodles. For the next hour or so, he drank his coffee, answered the phone, tended guests, and checked the computer system for any glitches or credit card errors.

The phone at his terminal beeped instead of rang, indicating an in-house call. He recognized the extension for the Front Office Manager’s office and answered casually. “What’s up, Allison?”

“Derek just called. The café is out of milk, and they can’t take any from the kitchen or it screws up inventory. I’ll give you some petty cash, but could you run up to the convenience store and get a gallon or two?”

“Um, sure,” Stiles said. He glanced up from his computer screen to see Derek attempting to placate a clearly angry guest. A woman with sharp heels; full, luscious hair; and business attire comprised of nothing but straight edges to highlight her curves. Derek wore his most charming and disarming smile, his body language warm despite how the woman’s shrill voice needled across the lobby. “Things are pretty slow right now, so if you don’t mind helping out Isaac—”

“Of course. Come get the cash.” When he went to her office, she gave him a twenty dollar bill and said, “Bring back the receipt.”

On his way out, Stiles noticed the café was blissfully empty of customers, but Derek was hunched over the counter, writing furiously in a notebook. They hadn’t spoken since Stiles’ almost-confession-and-possible-maybe-friendship-ruiner. He stopped at the counter and asked, “What kind of milk do you need?”

Derek, startled, looked up from his writing and, even in the dim evening lighting, Stiles saw his cheeks were pink. “Whole and two percent,” he said. “That lady was a nightmare.”

“I heard,” Stiles said, then added, “Literally. I could hear her squawking at you from across the lobby. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone that mad at you before. You okay?”

“Fine,” Derek grumbled, though how he watched Stiles with such relief belied his statement.

Stiles frowned, but didn’t push the matter further. In a universe where he hadn’t stuck his foot in his mouth, he might have teased Derek until he got a smile, or at least a smirk. He might have even settled for a fond, “Shut up, Stiles.” Instead, Stiles nodded, and left the hotel.

Getting the milk was uneventful, though he felt painfully out of place at a 7-11 in a suit.

He returned to the hotel with whole milk and two percent milk, one gallon of each. Hopefully it would be enough until they figured out what went wrong with ordering supplies. Stiles didn’t bother checking in with the Front Desk. Instead, he went to the café.

Which was empty.

Sighing heavily, Stiles readjusted his grip on the plastic bags and shouldered open the swinging door into the restaurant’s back-of-house. There, at the station where the servers rang in orders and swiped credit cards, nothing. No Derek. No Boyd. No one of the restaurant staff was anywhere to be seen, and the café fridge was locked. “Shit.”

“You’re back. Thank God.”

Stiles jumped and spun around, nearly knocking over a stack of wine glasses in his flail.

Derek stood by the register looking a little haggard, despite how sharply his server’s uniform always looked. His hair was a little wilder than usual, his eyes not as bright.

“You know, wolves usually howl to let their pack mates know where they are. So howl next time, instead of sneaking up on me.”

Squinting incredulously, Derek said, “That…assumes a lot.” But he led Stiles to the café and unlocked the fridge. They unloaded the milk together.

“Like what?” Stiles asked.

“One, that I’m a wolf,” Derek answered. “Two, that you’d even be a member of my pack.”

“Okay.” It sort of stung to hear that he might not be part of Derek hypothetical wolf pack. Maybe they were closer to acquaintances than friends. Maybe Derek didn’t like Stiles’ vague flirtation. His mood dipped again.

“And if I’m a wolf, you’d be a fox, right?” Derek said, turning away from Stiles to start making drinks. The espresso machine whirred to life, and the milk foamer hissed and sputtered, but Derek’s large hands were deft, and Stiles liked watching him work. The Front Desk was empty save for Isaac busying himself on his terminal; Stiles could spare a few moments for Derek.

“I guess,” Stiles answered.

Without looking at him, Derek said, “Wolves and foxes don’t get along.”

“Oh.” Okay, _that_ hurt.

“So you couldn’t be in my pack. My howling would be useless to you.”

“I see.” Stiles stared at his hands, fidgeting with the buttons of his shirt sleeves.

But then Derek ducked into his view with a small smile. “Good thing we’re people, right?”

Averting his gaze, Stiles muttered, “Yeah, of course. Look, Derek, I should probably—”

“Did you mean it?” Derek asked suddenly. He raised his hand as if to touch Stiles’ face, but Stiles looked up so he didn’t have to. Derek let his hand drop.

“Mean what?”

“When you said I was your favorite person.”

“I, um—”

“When you implied a similar favoritism to what Scott has for Allison,” Derek pushed, his voice edging on something like urgent or offended. Accusation? Stiles couldn’t tell; his head was spinning. “Did you mean it?”

After stammering for a moment, Stiles said, “Yes, okay?! Yes. That’s exactly how I meant it, Derek, and I’m—”

“You’re my favorite person, too.”

Stiles snapped his jaw shut so fast his teeth clicked. That was when he noticed how close to him Derek stood—nearly chest to chest. How, if he wanted, he’d just have to raise his head a little higher, because Derek already leaned in and…

“If you’re going to kiss me, Hale, do it,” Stiles murmured, breathless and challenging.

So Derek did. Right there in the café. Right where any number of guests or staff members or security cameras could see them, Derek hooked his fingers in the belt loops of Stiles’ slacks and hauled him in to swallow the small moans Stiles was helpless to control.

When Derek slowly pulled away, he nuzzled Stiles, who huffed a laugh when tickled with scruff; then he kissed him again, softer, sweeter.

“Awoo,” Stiles sighed, teasing with all the mirth he could muster after kissing Derek freaking Hale.

“Guess you’re a wolf after all,” Derek said, flushed and smiling and looking so happy. “Join my pack?”

“Woof,” Stiles said, before kissing him once more.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on tumblr: [foxtricks](http://foxtricks.tumblr.com/)


End file.
